Deceive Me
by lisek16
Summary: Irina POV--> CM Challenge Fic. Irina reflects; Vaughn visits… drama ensues.


Title: Deceive Me  
Author: Lisek16  
Rating: PG-13 for language  
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias, but if you are convinced I do, I recommend you stop reading immediately and schedule an appointment with a psychologist…  
Timeline: Future (set after S02E02 "Trust Me")  
Summary: (Irina POV) :: CM Challenge Fic. Irina reflects; Vaughn visits… drama ensues.   
  
*****  
  
Her voice cut through me like a sharp razor. Her incessant pacing nearly drove me insane…and her brutal honesty bit through me and sent chills down my spine.  
  
"You employ the people I kill. You hired the people who brought me into this life." Her voice is wavering on hysterical. Her tone lowered and I can feel her breath growing ragged. "Who are you to come to me as a mother…I don't even know you!"  
  
"No" I quietly respond. This is all wrong.   
  
One word. It only took one word for me to snap. I grabbed her arm as she turned to leave. I gripped her arm as my manicured nails dug deeper and drew blood. She didn't pull away as forcefully as I would have expected, she simply turned her head; diverted her eyes… ashamed of me.   
  
I couldn't blame her. I had deceived my only daughter.  
********  
  
Nondescript was the day. Nothing distinguished it as a Monday, or a Tuesday, but I could sense it was a Wednesday. I could sense it in the air, in the way the guard stood a little straighter and also in the way my coffee tasted a little more tepid than usual.  
  
But I was used to it all. It had been like this for weeks, perhaps even months…I had lost track of all time.  
  
Every Wednesday was the same. I'd wake up in a sweat. My sheets drenched; soaked in fear masquerading as perspiration. It was painful to wake; it was a sudden flash from a nightmare to sunlight and chirping birds. I'd see her tied to a chair, my own doing of course, and I'd hear her bit out the truth and it would hit me hard. And then I'd snap and I couldn't control myself nor my actions. Then…suddenly… I'd almost kill my own daughter…  
  
And at that moment, when her doe eyes would look up at me, asking for salvation; silently pleading with me… the dream would end and I'd gather the remnants of my sanity and prepare to face the day.  
  
But this day is different. The nightmare was different. I'd didn't try to kill her this time. I didn't bother to tie her to a chair. Instead we were back in my holding cell; my glass cage where seldom a visitor came. I was revisited by a pang of loneliness. Why did I turn myself in? I had known my fate. I knew she'd hate me. I knew she'd resent me. I knew she'd blame me. But she was my daughter and there are some things in life that made blood become thicker than water. She deserved better, every child deserves to know their mother. That's how I convinced myself. I assured myself I was doing it for the right reasons. If I died, If I was executed…I wanted her to know that I loved her before I faced my final judgment.  
  
In my dream she came face to face with me. It was our first meeting after I shot her in Taipei. I could feel the fire in her eyes and the daggers that she sent my way. She began to verbally bait me and that's when I grabbed her. That's when the dream ended and day broke. No cold sweat, no pained awakening. It was all familiar, safe even.   
  
It was half past nine by now. I sat on my patio in the Krakow villa overlooking the Sukiennice. I could hear the bustling below of the merchants, the locals, the tourists… native Polish intertwined with botched colloquial phrases.   
  
"dzhen dobri" (pronounced 'Jen Doble'), Good day, sounding more like a child's name then a salutation…a greeting.  
  
My quiet reflective morning was abruptly cut short as one of my guards brought me poached eggs to accompany the lukewarm caffeine. He handed my stack of international newspapers and broke my cardinal rule. He spoke to me…   
  
"Ms. Derevko…" he began in a meek voice.  
  
"Never address me in public. And if you are foolish enough to do so, never by name!" I responded, as I slammed my coffee mug against the patio table in frustration. It broke into shards and startled the guard.  
  
"Yes Ma'am." he said as he looked down and quietly continued, "I only wanted to inform you that a man came to the door. He's not armed."  
  
"It's him." I said, with a confident air to my voice. I vaguely waved my hand indicating nothing but suggesting the inevitable. It was him. It was Michael Vaughn.  
  
"Yes Ma'am." My guard responded still focused on a patio tiles.   
  
"Very well. Show Mr. Vaughn into the library." I said as I rubbed my right temple in a feeble attempt to alleviate my migraine.   
  
The guard left. The vision of Sydney, the nightmare flooded me. I knew I must compartmentalize such things, what ever it took to persevere. Emotions were only meant to be bottled up and saved for a rainy day.   
  
I reached the library, my guard opened the thick mahogany doors. I saw him seated on the ivory coach I had ordered from Florence last month. I could not see his face, but I knew every inch of it. His forehead was creased in eternal worry. His eyes no longer shown, they no longer exuded conviction. He was pale; he was a pitiful excuse for a man. He was the job…or perhaps he had finally reached the pinnacle of his occupation… the job had become him.  
  
"You know why I'm here." His voice echoed against the thick walls and high ceilings. The sheer volume of his deep voice took me by surprise. Perhaps I had underestimated him. Perhaps I did not know the hand he was dealt. Perhaps today would be anything but ordinary.  
  
"How's Sydney?" I asked out of motherly concern. A six month exile, a vacation, did not wash away the memories of my child.   
  
"Dead, you sick bitch." He responded as I sat on the chair across from him. I could see he was in pain. His words shocked me as well. He had to be mistaken. He had to be wrong.  
  
"How did it happen?" I asked in disbelief. He had to be misinformed, misdirected…confused.   
  
Six months ago she was working to take down what was left of my organization. With every drop of false Intel, she was one step closer to helping me take down my enemies. I had deceived her, I thrived on her desire to restore justice and make the world a better place. Such false, naïve ideologies. She was optimist, by nature. She was fighter, by genetics. I couldn't fathom she was dead.  
  
"You killed her." He bleated.   
  
That took me by surprise. A sick smile danced across my face. I fingered the pearl necklace laced around my neck. I shook my head.  
  
"No, Mr. Vaughn. I would never do that, she's my daughter." I responded.  
  
Only in my dreams, only in my deep subconscious could I possess the inner fortitude to murder my offspring. I might not agree with her code of ethics but I would never kill her over it. I never could. I at least…I didn't think I would.  
  
"It didn't stop you from putting half a dozen bullets in her chest." He said.  
  
I almost inaudibly whispered, "No… Sydney… No… I never."   
  
How could I kill her and not remember. Or maybe I do remember, and choose to forget. But I am not murderous by nature, unless provoked. I am not wild beast who shoots first and asks questions later. I am a mother. A mother who bore a child she could not be prouder of.   
  
"I suppose you don't know why I'm here. You, Irina Derevko, terrorist, enemy of the United States of America… are going back into federal custody. I will not rest until you are executed. You will die…you will pay…" he said regaining his professional; composure.  
  
"I never killed her." I responded, angered beyond words. I didn't deserve to die for a crime I did not commit. I was innocent of the sin.  
  
"We have witnesses, I'm one of them… or did you conveniently block that out too?"  
  
"Listen to me. You have no reason to accuse me. No reason to trust me, but why would I lie? I love Sydney. I turned myself into the CIA, I betrayed my friends, my contacts… my trusted comrades." I said.  
  
Though it was only a half truth, I had given up a great deal, I had sacrificed for her. I could hear his voice droning some federal jargon that supposedly placed me under federal custody. And then I snapped, like in the dreams…  
  
I have no idea what possessed me to remove the gun from the end table beside me. I have no idea why I aimed it at him… I suppose it was because he accused me of killing my only daughter. I suppose I logically considered him a threat…there is only one way to control a virus, one way to kill a threat. You attack…you fight back…  
  
He was closing in on me, I paled to notice. All I could do was rehash my memories of six months prior and nothing clicked. Nothing indicated I had killed her… that I had maimed her. There was no proof. There was no reason. No logic… no premeditation. He grabbed my gun. It fired…accidentally.   
  
I felt my senses numb and I looked down and saw the pain, saw the blood. I was only alert to the pain. It was like in the dreams, but my role was reversed. I was the victim, not the victimizer.   
  
Then the world faded to a shade of gray and it was over. No reason to fight, it was better to give up… it was better to give in.   
  
*******  
Her arms pulled against the restraints. I could see her in the chair, restricted, conflicted…inflicted with pain. She groaned against the metal chair. She looked at me, she didn't silently plead for absolution.  
  
"I HATE you!" she sneered.   
  
"I love you too…" I cooed.  
  
I took out a seriated dagger and gave a pathetic mantra about a friend, Thalami Shaky. An old friend who had a rebellious daughter, she disobeyed him and he killed her.   
  
"I don't give second chances… one strike you're out…" I continued.  
  
I cut into her pale skin, she didn't flinch…she looked up…  
  
"Don't do this." She whimpered.  
******  
  
The waves of death lapped against the shores of life…  
  
Then I remembered.   
  
I had seen her look, her eyes, her angelic features and could not go through with what Sark assured me was the right thing.   
  
I broke, I untied her… I ran away…   
  
I fled to Krakow. I set her free…   
  
Mr. Vaughn hadn't seen a thing, there were no witnesses…   
  
…there probably wasn't even a murder…  
  
I had killed 12 CIA Agents, and remember their deaths clearly… I would know if I killed my own daughter.   
  
A mother always knows…  
  
Yet something inside me was uneasy…  
  
….something was amiss…  
  
My eyes slowly shut and I drifted into oblivion…he had deceived me…it was a ploy…retribution for his father's murder…  
  
All's fair in love and war.  
  
THE END 


End file.
